I feel like there’s a darker story buried beneath this. The public story is that a woman home brews bug spray that “attracts” Bigfoot, but we have to remember this is the version coming from her husband. He probably came home, smelling of Bigfoot musk. Then his wife discovered Bigfoot hair on his collar. “What’s this thick, coarse hair fur doing on your shirt and in your jeans?” she probably asked. “Oh that’s, you know. We had a Bigfoot… uh… sighting. Because of your bugspray.” Then he scrambled to delete 50 sexts between him and Bigfoot.

The only other alternative is that this is a cold but folksy marketing strategy to help sell bugspray, and I don’t want to live in that cynical world.

Sure, Arkansas. A woman risked being imprisoned over misappropriated government funds to buy her dog a tuxedo. A likely story. No, this is clearly a smokescreen to prevent the public from discovering your dog secret agent program. You’ve developed the perfect weapon, and his name is Bud. James Bud. He’s killed more Russian spies and sniffed more butt than he cares to count. His days are a blur of cocaine, martinis, sex, and peanut butter. “Excuse me one moment,” he says, after kissing a beautiful woman. He turns around and shoots an approaching Albanian assassin. “I guess every dog does have his day,” Bud quips, and then licks his own butthole because he’s a dog.

Let’s be real here. This clothing is clearly designed by extraterrestrial beings of pure light energy who are trying to understand the concept of organic life-form “sex mating.” Should we be concerned? No, these energy beings are merely here to peacefully observe us having sex and they mean us no harm. But this fashion line they came up with indicates they have only a vague understanding of human sexuality.

“Female sex part is shoe?” the aliens ponder. “Uses shoes for do the sex with ground penis.”

“Lady-human is cat with dinosaur egg for boob?”

“Human beings floss butt parts with rope for make the sex?”

The aliens nod their heads in agreement, except they don’t have heads because they’re made out of pure energy, so they vibrate their electrons or something. But one alien dissents, bringing forth new research it has collected.

“No. Female human is fifty vagina. Uses them to mop floors.”

I like animals, especially monkeys because they can wear little hats and act like they’re people. But now that monkeys know they can sue us, we’re all screwed. It won’t be their access to weaponry or advanced intelligence that finally does us in, but their understanding of how to go forward with litigation. They already have the physical prowess to sign legal documents, as long as a smear of feces is acceptable notation. And as for paying legal expenses, these pro-bonobo PETA lawyers are only too eager to work for whatever meager payment monkeys come up with (gross clumps of hair, poop, and dead birds). Don’t you realize what this means? Once they have intellectual property rights, they can sue us for everything. Picking our noses? They invented that. Scratching our butts? Picking things up off the ground and sticking them in our mouths? Screaming at that which we don’t understand? They invented all of that. We’re bootleg ripoffs of monkeys, and now they know they can DMCA us into extinction.

Haha, what did goofy ol’ Ted Cruz get up to this time-

Oh.

Oh, my.

Well, at least it wasn’t the “Shapeless Meat Orb With Holes In It” porn we thought you watched, Ted. Honestly this is good for your image as a normal regular human person.

Jim Carrey, who got famous by being funny and making weird faces, has now settled into a career of shoving his head deep, deep into his own anus. He showed up to Fashion Week and gave an interview that sounded like it was cribbed from a disillusioned high schooler’s Moleskine journal. “There’s no meaning to any of this,” he said. “Celebrating icons? Oh boy, that is just the lowest aiming possibility that we could come up with. Icons. Do you believe in icons? I believe in personalities.” Then, perhaps fearing he wasn’t being quirky enough, he continued, “I don’t believe in icons. I don’t believe in personalities. I believe that peace lies beyond personality, beyond invention and disguise. I believe we’re a field of energy dancing for itself. And I don’t care.”

So first of all, do you believe in personalities or don’t you? Be clear in your thesis. Also, I get it. The commercialism of Fashion Week is annoying, icon worship is bad, and literally nobody but you, Mr. Carrey, has ever had these Intro to Philosophy 101 thoughts before. Congratulations on being an idea pioneer. Also, would you cool it with the “we’re dancing fields of energy” thing? We’re not. We’re dancing fields of meat. Meat that gets annoyed when out of touch aging comedians tries to blow our minds with pseudo-nihilism like, “Nothing matters,” “You don’t exist” or, “I don’t care, even though I clearly do care because I showed up and did an aggressively smug interview while wearing my most shiny, peacocky suit.”